


Pilgrim

by RainbowObsidian



Series: Pilgrims [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, This was supposed to be fluffy but there's a little bit of angst, aftg summer, don't worry it's only a little bit, neil runs away, soft andreil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25707523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowObsidian/pseuds/RainbowObsidian
Summary: The cicadas are already deafening when Andrew rolls over and discovers Neil is not in bed. Most other days this wouldn’t be surprising, but these days aren’t preceded with a night like last night anymore.*Neil runs away.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Pilgrims [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882069
Comments: 18
Kudos: 177
Collections: AFTG Summer 2020





	Pilgrim

**Author's Note:**

> An ode to Harriet: Day one of the AFTG Summer prompts - Hot Day.

The cicadas are already deafening when Andrew rolls over and discovers Neil is not in bed.

Most other days this wouldn’t be surprising, but these days aren’t preceded with a night like last night anymore. Last night when Neil had woken, Andrew had been taken back to Palmetto, to those days, weeks, months after Baltimore, when Neil had been a shadow of himself. Bruised, broken, undone. Months of Neil waking at night, drenched and trembling, desperate to run, begging to stay. Months of Andrew being helpless in the face of his person’s terror, unable to defend or protect in the way that he knew how. 

They’d navigated the shadows together and over the last few years, nights like those had become few and far between. Last night had been rough. It was hot - too hot - and they’d picked closed windows over insects. Andrew would walk into a wasp nest if it meant he could prevent Neil from going through whatever he had faced last night. He’d rocketed up out of bed, still and empty eyed, his only movements the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the rabbiting pulse of a vein in his neck. Andrew had approached cautiously, applying firm pressure to the back of Neil’s neck and whispered numbers over and over in English, then German, then Russian, counting one to four again and again until the other man’s breathing had finally returned to something approximating normal and icy blue eyes bore into his own. His Neil was back. 

_And now he was gone._

Andrew scans the room. Neil’s ratty old PSU duffel is still beside the chest of drawers, his favourite tshirt thrown over the hamper, his wallet on the dresser. His phone is gone from the bedside table. He’s coming back. 

_He’s coming back._

Andrew peers at the time on his phone - _fuck it’s early -_ and pokes a finger into each ear. He’d pushed the window open wide last night when they woke to let some fresh air in and he swears the cicadas have taken over their room in the nighttime. He can’t hear anything over the high pitched whine and it’s so. Fucking. Hot. 

He takes a cold shower. Makes coffee. Tidies up last night’s dishes. Wishes he still smoked. Tries to read a book, but _cicadas_. Cleans the bathroom. Makes more coffee. Doesn’t call Neil. 

He almost does, once, just to phantom his phone and make sure it’s actually on. He’d noticed Neil had been _off_ somehow, the last couple days, but he trusts him to process his own thoughts and reach out when he needs to, so he’d given him space. 

He does a crossword. Orders a portable air conditioning unit. Takes another cold shower. Drives to the grocer to buy eggs and bacon and halloumi. Doesn’t search the streets for Neil. 

He almost does, once, when he sees an auburn haired idiot running in the heat down one of the cross streets. How many auburn haired idiots are there that run in this fucking weather? They weren’t his idiot, so they weren’t his problem. 

He cooks breakfast. He’s been awake so long it should be lunch. He waters the succulents. Looks up ceiling fans online. Reads some more. Makes a double pot of coffee and mixes half with sugar and cream then sticks it in the freezer. Eats some ice cream. Doesn’t call Neil. 

He almost does, at 2pm, but when he brings the phone to his ear, Neil returns. Sheepish. Sweaty. He reeks. His hair is wild and his eyes are alive. They’re alive. He’s alive. He’s home. 

_He came back_. 

He says “I’m taking a shower,” and walks towards the bathroom as he throws Andrew a keyring with a suspiciously car-shaped key attached. A suspiciously _mundane_ car-shaped key. Closes the bathroom door. 

Andrew doesn’t move for a few moments, just breathes fully for the first time all day. A long inhale through his nose, a shaky exhale through his mouth. He closes his eyes. His shoulders relax. Neil came home. 

_Neil came home with a key._

Andrew pushes the front door open and stops at the top of the stairs. In the driveway is a van. With fucking daisies on it. A white van with yellow daisies. And roof racks. And an awning. There is a hula girl on the front dash. 

He turns on his heels, slams the door behind him, pushes the bathroom door open without knocking. “If you think I am getting in that thing you are an even bigger idiot that I thought,” he says with what he hopes is cold malice. It falls short, he knows it does. He hasn’t been able to use that tone on Neil in years and Neil proves this by laughing heartily, opening the shower door and splashing Andrew with cold water. Once, twice, he splashes, then steps out, grabs Andrew’s hand and pulls him in fully clothed. 

“Remember the last time you showered me fully clothed?” Neil asks, hair plastered to his forehead, water beading on his glorious eyelashes, wicked grin on his wicked face. 

“Did I mention you are an idiot?” Andew retorts, then peels his soggy clothes off and tosses them out on the bathroom floor. He looks up at Neil, searches his eyes, assesses for tension in his face, neck, shoulders, soul. Is relieved at what he sees, but still checks, “You ok?” Neil nods and draws him close. He melts into him and feels the last of his own tension melt away. 

***

They’re dressed, Neil’s hoovered breakfast-lunch-afternoon tea in a way that would give Aaron’s lab a run for its money and now he is dragging Andrew out the front door; that wicked grin stretching across his face and crinkling his eyes, getting under Andrew’s skin and crumbling his resolve despite how hard he’s holding on to some semblance of self respect. 

“Are you going to tell me where you got this monstrosity?” Andrew asks as Neil rounds the van, pulling out the awning, starting the motor. What he really wants to know is why, but he’s patient and Neil is glowing, and he’ll take this as long as it lasts. 

“I went for a run this morning,” Neil says unnecessarily. Andrew doesn’t respond, just stares back at him. “I couldn’t go back to sleep after I woke, and…” he trails off. 

“And?” Andrew prompts. Neil doesn’t answer; he’s marvelling at the daisies on one panel of the van. They’re painted on a vine ( _daisies do not grow on a vine, could this paint job be any worse?)_ and along one of the vines it says ‘pilgrim’ in neat cursive. “Neil,” he says. Neil looks up. Takes a breath. Leans his hip on the side of the van. His glow has clouded over slightly and he looks at the ground.

“It’s the first time I’ve wanted to run in years.” 

Ah.

 _He came back_.

“Where did you get it, Rabbit?” 

Neil flinches at the jab, then softens. He knows this is Andrew’s way of self-protecting, knows how Andrew would have fallen apart if he’d gone and not come back. “I went for a run,” he repeated, ”And I made myself run along suburban streets. I didn’t know if I’d come back if I ran the main roads, and the houses kept me grounded, sort of? Like, staying in our orbit, you know?” Andrew nods, says nothing. “Anyway. I’d been running a couple of hours and I got a stitch; I guess with all the sweating last night I was pretty dehydrated. And,” he takes a breath, exhales. Looks at Andrew. “I was a bit dizzy too. I sat for a few minutes, just focusing on my breathing and then a lady came out of her house with a drink of water for me.” 

Andrew clenches and unclenches his fists, knowing better than to say what he really thinks right now. He nods again, stays silent, traces his finger along the paint where it says _Pilgrim_. Neil watches him and smiles. “When I felt better I stood to go and saw this van in front of her house with a for sale sign in the window. I just thought… maybe Harriet is the answer.”

“Harriet,” Andrew repeats, staring hard at Neil, “the fuck would you say that?” 

“It’s her name,” he says, almost bashfully. “When the lady was showing me the inside of the van she said ‘Harriet and I had some wild times together, I hope you do too.’ And when I asked what she meant she said that was the van‘s name. Named after her first owner or something.” It’s Neil’s turn to search Andrew’s eyes now, and Andrew’s not sure what he’s giving away. “When she said that - I knew I had to buy it. I know you can count on one hand the good things that happened to you when you were a kid and I know that cat was one of them. It felt like a bit of an omen.” 

Andrew sighs and moves to Neil’s side. “What’s wrong with the Maserati?” he says, as Neil wraps his arms around his waist. It’s too hot for contact but he hugs him back anyway. 

“Sometimes it just feels too… easy,” he replies, “Too fast, too reliable, too sleek, too powerful. Too much like home.” Andrew watches as he traces the shape of the key on his palm; a habit he’s had since his first year at PSU and one that grounds him almost as often as a hand to the back of the neck. “I figure that on the hard days, when I feel like running, we can take Harriet, pull out whatever roadmap grabs us, and run together. 

“Oh, and check this out,” Neil continues, eyes glinting once more. He pulls Andrew around to the back, opens the double doors revealing a bright yellow interior, a car-fridge and a pallet bed made up with new cotton sheets and fluffy pillows. The air escaping the van is cold, blissfully cold, and when they crawl onto the bed the sheets are cool and crisp. Andrew relaxes against the pillows and watches the remaining clouds roll away from Neil’s face as he realises Andrew’s coming around. 

That night they hang twinkle lights and paper lanterns in the interior, pour over maps in the sparkly light, drink whiskey on ice and sleep in the driveway, just because Neil asks. 

Truth is, these days there’s little he won’t do for his person.


End file.
